


The First Time (For Every Self)

by GettingMetaphysical



Series: All by Myself: A Doctorcest Storyline [1]
Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (1963), Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, BDSM, Character Study, Doctorcest, Dom/sub, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Happy Sex, Humor, Introspection, M/M, Memory Alteration, Memory Loss, Romance, Self-cest, Sexual Humor, doctorbation - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-13
Updated: 2015-05-13
Packaged: 2018-03-30 08:52:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 3,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3930595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GettingMetaphysical/pseuds/GettingMetaphysical
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>With the initial question of 'who took Tens virginity?' I set out to answer which self each Doctor first had sex with. Beware of feels from all this tragic-comedic, romantic, sexual drama.</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. 1: And the School Boy Snuck Off

**Author's Note:**

> With the initial question of 'who took Tens virginity?' I set out to answer which self each Doctor first had sex with. Beware of feels from all this tragic-comedic, romantic, sexual drama.

  
Theta Sigma’s on his back in a round, luxurious bed. The mighty presence of the ship hums all around them, inside his mind. Nobody will guess that he’s been here, because no more than a few minutes will pass on the outside. The Time Lord called Eight is treating him a little to carefully for his liking. But, admittedly, part of him is scared. Part of him trembles with the indescribable feeling of long fingers caressing his stomach over his clothes, writing sweet things in Circular.   
  
”I know it’s a lot to take in. How do you feel?”  
  
His voice is like sun; warm and soft on his skin. Theta glances down, notices Eight’s grayish violet underwear peeking out from under the hem of his trousers. The lace pattern resembles bubbles in different sizes.  
  
”I feel, indeed, that we ought to… what did you call it? ’ _Make love_ ’? Hm. And it’s… English. Whatever that is.”  
  
”Yes.” He chuckles. ”That’s about the gist of it.”  



	2. 2: Such Depravity

  
”Oh my word,” the Second Doctor half-whines, half-moans.   
  
He’s almost forgotten how they ended up like this. His body’s trembling, blood rushing with adrenalin. The wet soles of his Eighth self’s boots whine against the floor… That’s right, mud, they ran through mud, there was this thing that chased them thr– Oh by stars, what a talented tongue his future has.  
  
”Oh no, oh crumbs…”  
  
Pressing him up against the console, Eight kisses his neck, making him blush. Two’s feet lock around the other’s slim waist, while his hands clutch their ship’s control board.  
  
”Oh, I’m a disgrace, positively depraved. Uhh…!”  
  
He keeps squirming. Those hands, they’re everywhere, trapped under his clothes, sliding across his skin. It’s ticklish, electrifying, it’s _his own hands_ …!  
  
”This is so wrong. We really shouldn’t be doing this – _I_ shouldn’t be…”  
  
Eight, lovely Eight, lets go to look at him, all doe-eyed care.  
  
”Do you want to stop?”  
  
Two, with his arched, righteous eyebrows, looks offended.  
  
”Heavens, _no_!”  



	3. 3: Don't Think

  
Well, he’s had sex in this body already; it had a stronger libido than earlier ones. Thus he’s gone ahead and fraternized with the natives. This shouldn’t feel new. But it’s far more exciting than anything Earth has to offer.  
  
What’s odd, is that memories keeps flashing by. Purposefully hidden. The Time Lords forced him to regenerate, and the memories they didn’t approve of were ripped to shreds. Into sounds and sights, odd sensations.  
  
They almost make sense. Garish fabric being slipped off of thick arms. Cutlery rattling on the floor, dropped in surprise. Ancient, familiar eyes twinkling in affection. A beige figure kissing his hand in greeting. His hands from before, possessively sneaking under red, green, blue velvet…  
  
But then, a slim hand brings his face close, and those blue eyes drags his mind deep under soothing honey waters. Bubbles tickle his skin or his head or his guts like champagne. It fills him or he fills himself, he fucks himself and comes harder. His Eighth self writhes under him, wraps around him, forces the Third’s mind with its butchered memories and trammeled knowledge to stop thinking.  
  
To hell with the Time Lords, to hell with the rules. Just take it, give it, let yourself explode and sink into the pleasure. Again, more, oh please don’t stop…  
  
It’ll be morning soon. His future self will leave. Free to explore, run, live on the edge of endless galaxies. When he leaves, the Doctor will feel as lonely and stranded as every day.  
  
Right now, he’s whole.  



	4. 4: No Insecurities

  
Irritated, the Eighth wanders around at the bazaar. One of them’s here, he can feel it, but where?  
  
Just across the square. Tall and magnificent, with wildly gesturing hands, legs that go on forever and too much clothing. There he is, and he’s _stunning_.  
  
Eight can’t help it; he grins and runs. He only sees his jaw drop before he crashes into his Fourth self’s arms. But now that they’re hugging, Four spins him around and laughs with him.  
  
As the smaller’s feet touch the ground, they’re already kissing. Eight melts in his embrace. It’s the first time the younger has made the first move on the first try! No insecurities, just passion.  
  
Sarah Jane screeches as the stranger collides with the Doctor. Harry yells, knocked over by their spinning.  
  
”Doctor, whoever that is, quit _nuzzling_ him! I think Harry’s twisted his ankle!”  
  
So the actual shag has to wait a couple hours.  



	5. : My Comfort... My Consort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the full tale, please check out my previous story, "The Comfort."

  
  
"Let's go somewhere we can converse in peace, shall we?"  
  
Right, time for the proper purpose of this meeting.  
  
The Sixth drags his clueless young Fifth self up a staircase. Almost all sound from below vanishes as they reach the corridor and enter the dim-lit little room he’s renting.  
  
(He’s waited for himself since noon, with his own TARDIS hidden in the basement of a spa a few streets over. After an uncharacteristically timid explanation how urgent his ”errand” was, Mel doesn't mind him leaving her to relax. She even gave him a hug for luck.)  
  
He hands himself the tea (”Blue Widower”? A cruel pun, more than anything else). Since there are no chairs, the future Doctor plops down on the edge of a bed.  
  
The Fifth takes off his Panama hat to fan himself. Knocking back the tea, he hangs the hat on the nearest bedpost at the foot end of the bed. Finally, he places the cup on the nightstand and sits down between his hat and his future.  
  
”So, what motivates me to drag myself to a private room in a pub?”  
  
”It’s simple.” The Sixth puts his cuppa away. ”I’ve come to seduce you.”  
  
The Doctor stares.  
  
Somewhere inside, the Fifth feels how the older Fourth’s insecurities drove him to forget. The Doctor does a flawless job in awakening his younger self’s sexuality, and with that, his (once again) lost memories. It is beyond invigorating.  



	6. 6: Not Just Me

  
  
”And wonder of wonders, I can’t recall a single second of this moment. The two of us are treading new ground, the very novelty of it…! Ooh, I’ve never seen you with these eyes before – let me look at you. No – come over here, darling. Lend me my hands.”  
  
The Sixth snatches slim hands up, examining. He’s like a popped champagne bottle, the way he boasts, bubbling over in celebration. Then again, so is the Eighth. He’s pretty sure Six has gotten fairly used to his new body, but Eight’s only weeks old. It’s even more exciting when you haven’t found every bit and special spot yet.  
  
”Even as it is your same hands, they leave a unique weight in each pair I regenerate into. Really, I’m at loss for words…”  
  
”Then perhaps we shouldn’t talk so much.”  
  
”Oh I’ll talk, if I remember Six correctly. I’ll converse, command, criticize and call. Dialogue and monologue if I must. Sometimes I sing as an amusing challenge–”  
  
The Eighth’s kiss is like a well-placed whisper. Soft, and leaving you longing for everything it suggests. Six sighs when he lets go, only to be pushed down on the sofa.  
  
”It’s just… so odd… I’ve been anticipating all this for so long and yet, now we’re here, we’re together…” The younger laughs, yet his arms cling, as if the Doctor will dissolve into smoke and dreams if he doesn’t. A mere mirror. ”I’m overcome…”  
  
The older Doctor, with his face hidden in the curve of his younger’s neck, grimaces, in sorrow and in humor. Wistful for the days and relationships past, trembling with want for what’s yet to come for them. For him? No, them. In a weird way.  
  
”I’ve missed you, too.”


	7. 7: Gentle Depravity

  
  
Late in the TARDIS’ artificial night, when alien companions go to sleep, the Time Lord pilots remain in a lounge room. The Seventh’s on the sofa, clickety-clacking the spoons on his palm in time with the engines’s hum. Far away, yet she’s always near. Always crooning in his head…  
  
”I think she’d like to join us, don’t you?”  
  
”For what?”  
  
His Second self doesn’t answer, but turns away from the huge window showing the glitter of space. The light makes his black hair shine like ink, carves his wrinkles deeper.  
  
The rhythm of the spoons go soft and vague, and for some reason Seven blushes. His face is smoother than Two’s. But his new body is older than the last; small, stout and springy rather than voluptuous and seductive. His new personality is… bouncy. Suited for the silly music contest they’d had on today’s trip, directing Mel, Jamie and Zoe through a field of ginormous citrus fruits by way of echo. Not entirely sure it’s suited for what he knew Two desired now, walking towards him with a curious gleam in his eyes.  
  
Still, he lets the younger kiss him. It’s not until Two straddles his lap that he pulls away, hot all over but confusingly timid. His thumbs twiddle, stuck between their chests.  
  
”D-Doctor. Maybe we– I don’t know if–”  
  
Two looks him in the eye, so serious that Seven has an impulse to flick his nose and wink. Pretend he never hesitated.  
  
”Do you want to stop?”  
  
The Doctor’s hands consider the past chest through his shirt. His brow furrows.  
  
”I just haven’t…” One hand glides upwards, slowly, caressing the younger neck. ”It feels strange saying this to you, but… Be gentle.”  
  
”My dear,” the Second says, with his softest, most endearing smile. The Doctor’s hearts skip at the sight, not at all yet exactly like the way they did in his previous body. Same, but different. ”Of course.”


	8. 8: Oh, You

  
  
The control board’s beeping alarm doesn’t sound like a warning so much as amused whistling.  
  
”–are you doing! This isn’t what I meant t–”  
  
Startled, the Doctor peeks behind the pillar. His jaw falls open. Another Time Lord stands there, looking awkward. The exact same as him, in fact. Down to the fluffy brown hair, the heavy-lidded blue eyes and the Bill Hickok get-up.  
  
”Doctor?”  
  
”Oh, poor dear,” the intruder says. ”You’re _just_ after Grace, aren’t you?”  
  
”Why yes, it’s only been a day or two or three.”  
  
The other sighs. ”Do you know why I’m here?”  
  
He eyes him up and down, pursing his lips in thought while he walks over to him. He recognizes that he should be panicking over the First Law, that this might be a trap, that –  
  
He grins and grabs ahold of the other’s face to give him a big ol’ smacker, right on the lips. The other laughs as they hug.  
  
”Your memories aren’t all sorted out yet, right?” his only slightly older self whispers, combing fingers through his hair.  
  
”I have a feeling you can help me.”  
  
”Not too much, I’m afraid.” Lips travel down the younger’s neck and make him shiver. His head feels light. ”I’m only about an Earth month older than you.”  



	9. Intermission: The Warrior

  
  
If any of those foolish young things ever comes near him. If those ones ever run into him, if they ever lay a hand on him, if they ever try any of that nonsense again, if they ever–  
  
Despite how (memories of) loved ones forbid it, he entertains the thought. It makes his hands shake. Makes his hearts skip in a terrible, cruel way. Makes his coward eyes look to the skies and hope for a last ticket out.  
  
None of them ever finds him. That he can remember. He was– They are cunning, scheming. Good at deciding what’s best for one another. They could’ve appeared; he could’ve erased it from his mind.  
  
Long ago, sometimes even now, he yearns for the old days. Stuck in this body and these circumstances. Sometimes he flees, just for an hour, minutes, just to watch one of them and his loved ones. But no more. He’s not part of them, and he’s not part of _that_ , he will not be. I will not, do you hear me, and if I ever–  
  
None of them ever came for him.  
  
Good.  
  
He would’ve shot himself on sight.


	10. 9: The Twist Loosens a Little

  
He’s still not sure about it. Long ago, his futures used to be a security sling. They left him alone for too many decades, left him in immortal frustration with no hope for even having a next life, any future at all. Until one of them, at long bloody last, made contact. There’s still so much fury, confusion and hurt, twisting his stomach whenever his next self leaves.   
  
But every few days, the Tenth returns. Like he’s promised. With a wink and a smile and a ”Companions asleep?” from a control screen, the Doctor lets him phase in. For hours on end, they talk over tea, drinks and pastries. The Doctor doesn’t – wait, Nine. (Nine, you’re Nine, your number matters now. That’s what Ten calls you, and he says it with such warmth…) _Nine_ doesn’t think his current body has consumed as much sugar in it’s entire lifespan, as it has in these last weeks.  
  
One night, it’s almost like the cozy old times. Lazing around in a sofa, with his older self’s head in his lap, playing with his hair. Ten takes another swig of the cinnamon whiskey. He only blushes; the stuff can’t get Time Lords properly drunk. (Can’t get the lone Time Lord drunk.)  
  
When Ten’s head turns and lips press against his stomach, Nine lets it happen. He doesn’t even think about it. The future lifts the hem of his jumper, the kisses tickle…  
  
”Doctor…?”  
  
Sometimes he can’t bear to look into Ten’s puppy eyes. They’re darker than usual, and his lips are parted.  
  
The twist in his stomach loosens a little. Warmth pools in his groin. It’s not the sex that’s the issue.  
  
Is he still not sure about it? He can’t tell.  
  
”Go ahead.”  
  
With a cheeky smile, Ten unzips Nine’s jeans.  



	11. 10: Topping Advice

  
”Hello?” the Fourth says.   
  
Owl-like, he stares at the twiggy, pinstriped figure with the spiky hair. They just popped up between his arms, pinned against the control board.  
  
”Cheeky old girl,” the stranger spits. ”I was looking for Five.”  
  
”Seriously, Doctor?” Four pouts at himself, grinds their hips tighter together. ”Am I not good enough for you?"  
  
”Oh no, no. You’re…” The future’s chest heaves, eyes fluttering across his body. ”You’re brilliant.”  
  
Those brown eyes shine in competition with that smile. Damn, rude _and_ cute.  
  
”As well. I mean, I’m not unhappy that I got here instead, just surprised. Y’see I wanted to find Five, because there was this arachnid mama queen with evil plans and so many eggs, lots of water, and this ginger bride gave me some absolutely _topping_ advice – I felt pretty lonely anyway and WELL, y’know how it goes, it’s so wibbly-wobbly trying to find a good shag in this mess of a timelin _nmmfff-haahh_!”  
  
The older pants as Four breaks the kiss.  
  
”So far, you seem to take after Five quite a bit. I believe I’m a better start for you.”  
  
”Reh-really?”  
  
He digs a hand into the spikes. ”Which of them are you, Cockatoo?”  
  
”T-Teeeennnnnn,” the Tenth Doctor whines. Hair fetish, again!


	12. 11: Not Quite

  
By stars, is the Eleventh slack-jawed now. With no warning from the Old Girl, his Tenth self’s appeared, leaning on the control board; hair tousled, clothes wildly askew, face blooming red. Thank goodness Amy was out.  
  
”Hello,” his past says, husky and inviting. ”Fancy seeing you again, Bowties.”  
  
”Ph-ph-phased back to the wrong point in the time line, I presume?”  
  
”Yeah,” Ten sighs. ”But I don’t really mind ending up with some honey-hearted codger like you, Chinny.”  
  
”Skinny little brat,” Eleven grins, sauntering closer. ”You don’t know what I’m capable of.”  
  
”Tease.” Ten slings an arm out and around and pulls himself into a hug. ”Y’know, we’ve seen each other enough times before. Why don’t we have a proper fuck already?”  
  
”What? I-I, wha– maybe? Really? Now? Literally right now?”  
  
”Something the matter?” Ten loosens his grip and looks him in the eye, curious.  
  
”It’s just that–” Eleven feels the blood rushing to his face and his fingers twiddling. ”–I’ve kind of gotten myself a new love interest. Human.”  
  
”Oh. Congrats, mate.”  
  
”Thanks. But she’s… very experienced.” Eleven sighs, drags a hand through his thick fringe as an excuse to rub his temple. ”She’s so gorgeous, and so active. She rode me so good on our first night together, and I just – didn't even do anything, I just lay there–!”  
  
”Stop! Right there. Just, stop.” Ten puts a finger up to his future lips, gesturing to his own barely buttoned shirt. His abdomen is still sweaty and red from the clawing of nails.  
  
”I just got back from Four’s place after having pretty much _every single thing_ from the toy box stuck inside or on me, and coming harder and harder by the minute. Trust yourself, you might have gotten shyer or whatever, but there’s no shame in that. You know how to please humanoids.”  
  
”Th-that may be true, but–”  
  
”Come on then, Sweethearts,” Ten growls, breath like steam against his neck. ” _Practice on me_.”  
  
Frighteningly quick, Eleven feels the butterflies in his stomach melt into heavy lust.  
  
”Well… She’s got a vulva, so I suppose I should be the one penetrating…”  
  
Ten giggles between kisses. ”You can’t be too sure with humans. She might prefer oral, or manual, or pull out a strap-on.”  
  
”Mmm, she said she’d like to…”  
  
”How communicative, I already like her. Now let’s find some place soft…”  



	13. 12: Blue

  
  
”…and I’m not sure if this body even likes fucking.”  
  
”Well, I’m here for you to try and find out. If you’re curious.”  
  
”Eight,” the Twelfth sighs. ”You know I’m curious.”  
  
How could he smile so shyly in that get-up? Lying on his bed, in the old lacy things. Delicate garters, thin stockings and panties in grayish violet, whose bubble lace pattern reminds him more and more of Circular Gallifreyan (ouch). And that off-shoulder white t-shirt with the bloody cheesy print; ”I heart-heart me”. All for special occasions like this. Eight looks delectable, as always.  
  
”Alright then.” He gets out of the last of his clothes and straddles the younger. ”Just avoid the hugging for now.”  
  
Granted, that’s a little difficult, as his Eighth loves kissing (and generally getting all up in anyone's space). But the longer they snog, the more Twelve realizes what feels good or bad or meh, and his past picks up quickly. Graceful, wrinkled hands glide across taut muscle. As Eight caresses him back, the Doctor is shocked to find how sensitive his new skin is.  
  
And when Eight rolls them over, becoming his top, his breath hitches.  
  
While he’s being kissed all over, the older’s hands undoes the clasps at the panties to free the younger’s erection, but keep the stockings on. Eight looms over him on shuddering arms, moaning as Twelve strokes their dicks together. Hm, quite lovely, but what about…?  
  
The older turns to prop up on all fours. He shivers; the feeling of his slicked cock pressing against his bent-over arse always promises so much.  
  
”Hmm…”  
  
Curious hands flutter up the Doctors back. One winds up in his hair; the other pushes gently down, until his face meets the mattress.  
  
For the first time, this new body lets out a groan. A properly loud, slutty, shameless bloody groan of pleasure.  
  
”…Guah, damn it – stop that.”  
  
This makes Eight try to let go, before Twelve blurts:  
  
”Wait, I didn’t mean it like that. I want, I-I just, want you to – Just hold me down and _fuck me_ , you scatterbrained ponce!”  
  
He only feels his partner’s cock twitch, and it’s driving him mad.  
  
”Oh…?” Eight shifts his grip on his hair, pulls it tight. ”Is this how you like it? My dear Twelfth…”  
  
He keeps the squirming, moaning future down by putting his weight on the hand between his shoulder blades.  
  
”A protester.” He chuckles darkly. ”My oh my, Doctor, you’re filthy. It’s coming back to me now…”  
  
”Shut up,” the older growls, even as the shaft presses, enters– ”Oh gods!”  
  
Eight bends over him, fills tightness with hard heat. His chest warms Twelve’s back, lips nudge his ear:  
  
”You know our safe word, my love. Alright?”  
  
”Blue,” he mutters, to tell him _yes, it’s good, keep going_. It actually feels exciting to let loose like this. Might just have a need to play pretend, to thrash about and scream his lungs out.  
  
There's a smirk in the velvet voice, as his past enters the Role for real:  
  
”Slut.”  
  
”Oh, fuck you!” the Twelfth snaps. ”Get off me!”


End file.
